


No Compasses

by IneffableDoll



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Banter, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Holding Hands, Ineffable Partners, Love Confessions, Other, POV Alternating, Philosophy, Queerplatonic Relationships, Romance, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Soul Bond, They/Them Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), all that matters is that they love each other…eventually, alt title: me crowley and my philosophical bs, destiny is dumb, no beta we give away our swords like Aziraphale, oblivious everyone, the soulmate au for people who don't like soulmate aus, their relationship can be read many ways, very lowkey pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-26 15:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30108258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableDoll/pseuds/IneffableDoll
Summary: “I don’t give a shit who I’m predestined to – to care about, or however this works,” Crawly replied flatly. “So, don’t expect anything from me.”Aziraphale nodded and readjusted their wing to fit securely over Crawly’s head. They shivered as rain soaked through their robe and probed deep to the sensitive skin beneath. “Likewise, fiend.”~All angels have at least one soulmate. When the angels Fell, two were separated. Together on Earth, an angel and a demon try to understand what the linking of their souls means for them, whether their choices are their own, and if any of it really matters when they come to love each other on their own terms.(Prewritten; New chapter every other day until completion!)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 37
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m generally iffy on soulmate AUs. The whole concept of a predestined pairing/set is very annoying to me because it brings into question the significance of an individual's agency, choices, and free will. The way I see it, we are not destined to love each other, but we likewise cannot help ourselves. (Yes, I’m overthinking this, best get used to that if you’re gonna tolerate me in this fic lol).  
> This said, soulmate stories can still be enjoyable, and I’ve wanted to try writing one, but it took me some time to land on an angle that I wanted to execute. Get ready for me to project a lot of opinions on Crowley, but then, if you’re a regular here, you know that’s basically all I do. But this is definitely more than me waxing poetic about individual will, it’s also about falling in love!! Love in general!! Friendship and stuffs!!  
> (Despite the chapter count, this is not nearly so long as Painstakingly Drafted. It’ll be about 23k when it’s all up!)  
> Content Warnings: There will be themes throughout of religious indoctrination (Aziraphale and Heaven), offscreen death of minor and/or non-specific characters (I will mention at the top of the chapters in which this is relevant), and a canon-compliant referral to suicide by holy water (which doesn’t happen, and I will also mention it at the top of the relevant chapter). There is also swearing because Crowley, and blasphemy because me and also still Crowley.  
> (Title from Taylor Swift’s “invisible string” for the irony, considering it’s a song about fated love.)  
> I hope you enjoy it! :D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Beginning, and all its implications.

_Angels Fell together._

_Before the Beginning, when creation was too new to age, before dust could dare accumulate on the edges of existence, and as the endlessness of nothing that was everything gathered details, all angels were bound in pairs and sets to the ones their souls sung for. They were inseparable and, by design, intended. It was an eternal bond, incapable of being broken, incapable of resistance, and incapable of ever being disliked, because it was and is and always will be Her Will._

_Nothing could tear the soulmates apart. No one thought to defy the bond, as it was the natural state of things._

_And so, angels fell together. And they Fell, and others bore witness, and all angels and demons took comfort in knowing that their bonds were boundless and perfect even in existential strife. It was the ideal way to live, with one’s bonded partner or partners, as was deemed. Even those that had yet to meet their soulmate, as the connection would come to be called, knew there was safety in the surety of this. Everyone had at least one such bond._

_Even if time had not necessarily come into being yet, it took the progression of much of the universe’s construction before it became apparent that something had gone awry, or perhaps, against expectation, in the War to Start All Wars. There was one angel who did not have a soulmate at all. One of the principalities. None of the other angels knew why, but they all dreaded the very existence of such a thing. The implications scared them. What kind of an angel doesn’t have a soulbond? they asked. What is the point of it?_

_And so, sometime after the Falling and just before the Beginning, this angel was assigned to Earth. Their presence made everyone else uncomfortable, and it was best if they were out of the way somewhere, where they, most likely, couldn’t cause any harm or panic._

_It was with the knowledge of this brokenness that the principality regarded the barren desert surrounding Eden and unknowingly awaited the oncoming storm._

***

Across dusty, swirling sands and waning light, the first raindrops fell together.

Aziraphale squinted beyond at two figures, one alight with a stroke of flame, and twirled the ring on their pinkie finger with their eyebrows set low. They didn’t notice when they lifted their own wing to cover their strange, talkative companion.

The moments ticked on as the downpour grew heavier, and the flowers choked on their drink as the grass within the enclosure flooded with mud. Trees bowed their limbs to the ground, and fruit seemed to rot with the stink of flies and the putridity of sin. The overflow of the lakes crept up the banks, swallowing soil and life. Rain was the nourishment of the lands, but the Garden would not survive it.

So, Aziraphale did not look back, and instead kept their eyes steady on the grey and red horizon.

“They’ll be alright,” the demon said. Aziraphale jolted, having largely forgotten they were not alone, and looked at the figure. They hadn’t bothered to take them in, but now, Aziraphale stared into Crawly’s serpentine eyes, and caught onto the _theme_ of the hour.

Before they could reply, they Understood.

Angels had Fallen together, or so it had been believed. This was the natural assumption to make due to the very function of the soulbond and the inevitability of its connection. It was the way of things, to remain as a unit, a set, a collection, with one’s bonded equal. But, as ever-changing blue, green, hazel, or grey eyes met eternally yellow ones, stroked with black - the windows to the soul - they took in simultaneous breaths and Knew.

“You’re my…” Aziraphale trailed off, eyes wide, unable to say it. It couldn’t be possible. It wasn’t right. This wasn’t the way of things. And yet, it was completely, utterly undeniable.

“Soulmate,” Crawly breathed. The rain seemed so quiet now.

They stared at each other, uncomprehending. Aziraphale, the broken angel without a bond. Crawly, the Fallen One, the answer to a question Aziraphale had agonized over, only to raise many, many new ones.

“I-I always wondered, ever since, if my – if you…that is…” Aziraphale babbled, unsure what one was supposed to say to one’s closest inherent partner in life when you, as opposing beings of the universe, weren’t even meant to be friendly.

Crawly’s face twisted with something vulnerable, aching, and raging. They turned away sharply, curls bouncing with the movement, and folded their arms. “Ridiculous,” they grumbled.

Aziraphale flinched.

“Not _you,”_ they added, as though that was obvious. “The _soulmate thing_ is ridiculous. I don’t care who the ‘Almighty’ has picked out for me. So, don’t go trying to…anything.”

Although Aziraphale didn’t agree with the wording, they agreed with the sentiment. “I have only respect for the Almighty’s decisions,” they replied firmly, averting their own gaze back to the darkening sands, “but I-I have little interest in the souls of the Fallen.”

“You…don’t suppose it could be a mistake?”

“The Almighty doesn’t make mistakes.”

Crawly let out a noisy breath. “Figures,” they ground out between clenched teeth. Their frustration was palpable in the air, and Aziraphale’s heart clenched in sympathy and the desire to comfort. It was instinctual, of course – because they were an angel, or because this was the soul their own cried out for? It couldn’t be said, but it must be resisted. The Almighty must intend this as a test of their Will.

“I expect we’ll, er, not need to bother with it,” Aziraphale muttered weakly.

“I don’t give a shit who I’m predestined to – to care about, or however this works,” Crawly replied flatly. “So, don’t expect anything from me.”

Aziraphale nodded and readjusted their wing to fit securely over Crawly’s head. They shivered as rain soaked through their robe and probed deep to the sensitive skin beneath. “Likewise, fiend.”

***

It was the Fall of Man, and the Man and Woman were cast out together, but they were not each other’s soulmates.

Humans were not to have them anymore.

Crawly had not known what the apple would do when they tempted the Woman to eat the forbidden fruit, only that it was forbidden and, yet, undeniably available. Its accessibility confused them, and they found themself wondering for a long time after if it had been on purpose.

Regardless, the Man and the Woman were not soulmates, for a side effect of the invention of sin was also the invention of choice. Free Will. And with it, the ability to defy God’s Will. They gave up soulmates by eating the apple. They were to walk their paths with the freedom to make mistakes and learn from them, to love all the wrong people and recover, and to trip and stand up afterward.

Soulmates, soulbonds. Something created by God to dictate the personal lives of supernatural creatures and to ensure that decisions were ripped from the individual. That was the way Crawly saw it, anyway. Yet, it was a bond that was guaranteed to bring comfort and some meagre measure of happiness. The whole point was that soulmates were meant to be together and that they would find peace in union. They were to be your greatest friend, or they were your sibling, or they were your lover. They were whatever you needed them to be, and you were likewise for them.

But the humans did not have them, because they could _choose._

Not for the first time, nor the last, Crawly was jealous of that freedom – not that the Woman or Man had much in the way of options, but their descendants soon would, and they still technically had the freedom to reject each other if they’d wanted to. But they didn’t.

Falling, rebelling, questioning – what was the point of it all, just to trap oneself in a new set of chains? The rules were different, they were volatile, they shifted, and they didn’t make any more sense than the old ones had.

What was it about choosing that made itself neither good nor bad? If neither angels nor devils could choose, then why was Free Will a prerequisite to sin, and therefore evil?

Crawly stared up at the stars that swirled overhead. Meteorites zipped across the dark sky. They never fell in pairs, they travelled and burned in clusters. Was it their choice to fall? Why did any of it matter?

With a grimace, Crawly sat up and shifted their feet through the sand, as though scouring for some sort of bearing. Below, in Hell, there had been a lot of confusion over why Crawly was the only one without a soulbond, yet, at the same time, none of them had really cared. The newly fallen were desperate for a connection, desperate for a reminder that not everything was lost, and so they clung to each other. Crawly watched on, broken and aching, wondering where their soulmate had gone, or if God had decided they didn’t deserve one. They’d been happy to be assigned to Earth when so few others were willing to leave their soulbonded partners behind.

Eventually, Crawly decided that they did not want one at all. Why should they lean on someone, _love_ someone, just because God told them to? They weren’t doing anything to suit God’s Will anymore. No. Not now. The time for that was passed.

Yet, there was an instinctual ache, ever since Crawly had parted ways with the angel Aziraphale. The days and weeks meandered, and it settled inside them, refusing to go away. Crawly couldn’t decide if it hurt more to know their soulmate was out there, unreachable, or if they might’ve been better off not meeting Aziraphale at all. They couldn’t quite wish for that, and yet, the hurt in their chest felt like the oldest manipulation and guilt. They were supposed to be free of that, now.

Demons weren’t free. They could love, and they did. But they could not choose who any more than angels could. Crawly’s feelings were still playthings of the universe.

They contemplated the sky as night turned into day, counting the stars before the sun obscured them all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley meet outside the Ark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for offscreen death caused by the Flood.

Aziraphale was not thinking about it. Not at all. Likewise, they were doing a very poor job of _not_ thinking about it.

Their very soul had been touched, somehow, that day above Eden, as the first storm washed away the remains of the Garden and left behind a nothing, the marklessness of unimportance. It cried for that connection, straining against what Aziraphale knew to be logical, and that was that their soulmate was a _demon._

They had no idea what to think. They’d felt so confident when they first realized who – and what – Crawly was to them, and yet, the centuries wore away at them. Was it really right to turn away from Crawly? To – to deny them, and themself? However, there was no world in which it was anything but wrong to have any positive relations with a demon. The rules were quite clear. Demons were evil, heartless, and cruel, and angels were not to associate with them.

This, then, made it impossible to understand why their soulmate, the one Aziraphale should’ve kept by their side, was a member of the opposition. It was God’s Will for angels and demons to be at arms, yet also God’s Will for soulmates to be together. Aziraphale wanted to serve the Greater Good, and to serve Her. How to do was not so clear as it had once been. They yearned for simplicity.

Aziraphale marvelled at the fact that humans lacked soulmates. It was confusing, the way they waddled and danced through the world, completely aimless, and found each other on their own Free Wills. There was nothing divine about it. It was strikingly human. Some souls still managed to sing together, yet it was not by design, but by the way the humans built upon each other foundations of love, trust, vulnerability, and…faith.

Demons could not have faith in anything.

There was nothing to be done. Aziraphale elected, eventually to ignore it. Who knew if Crawly would show up again, anyway, and if they did, it simply wouldn’t matter. There was no straightforward way to follow God’s Will, and without God’s guidance, the only thing to do was move forward and stray not from the given path.

***

Beside the Ark, Crawly watched helplessly as the rains fell harder, and puddles collected into ponds, into lakes. Soon, it would be an ocean, and it would swallow whole the lives that struggled every day to meet the impossible expectations of a ruthless, unforgiving Creator whose boundaries were blurred and unfeasible. There was no hope. There was nothing to be done.

And yet, Crawly wanted nothing more than to try, because a million-lightyear dive into boiling sulphur hadn’t taught them any lessons, apparently. They glanced at Aziraphale; the two had stood together for some time now, the people around them a mix of disbelieving panic and incredulous contempt. Crawly had an idea forming, and they watched as the angel’s eyes strayed toward the children playing in the growing puddles, laughing gleefully in ignorance of what was to come. Maybe…maybe the angel could be…mmm, not tempted, but _swayed_ to help a demon out. With the right arguments.

“Aziraphale,” they said. The angel didn’t move or respond, but they were clearly listening. “Aziraphale, you want to follow God’s Will, don’t you?”

The angel stiffened, not meeting their eyes. “Of – of course, I do. The Almighty surely knows what She’s doing in all this…”

Crawly hadn’t actually been trying to cast doubt this time, but they lifted an eyebrow and set that reaction aside for later. “Sure, sure, whatever. Thing is, though, if we’re soulmates…”

“You know full well we are.”

Crawly rolled their eyes. “Fine. _Since_ we are soulmates, can I trust you to trust me with something?”

Aziraphale wiped the rain away from their eyes, squinting upward into the clouds crackling with lightning. “I could never trust a demon,” they replied shortly. “Besides, you said you didn’t care about being soulmates.”

“Maybe I’ve changed my tune,” Crawly lied through their fangs. “Thing is that I think I need your help to do something. God would want you to trust your soulmate, don’t you think?”

Aziraphale glared at them, a sharpness there that reminded Crawly suddenly of swords and flames, but also of _I gave it away_. “Don’t think you can tempt me to follow God’s Will,” Aziraphale stated, swallowing hard. “A demon such as yourself cannot decide for me what Her actions mean. You are _Fallen.”_

Crawly bit back a hiss and help up their hands placatingly. “Fine, fine, my bad. Whatever.” They turned away and stomped back toward the village, some knot twisting in their gut. They’d worked hundreds of temptations before, but that just felt _wrong_ , with Aziraphale. Manipulative. But that was their job – it was what their purpose was, really. But maybe…not with them.

It was fine. Crawly would do this entirely on their own because they didn’t need some angel’s help, anyway. They didn’t know why they’d bothered asking at all, only that it would’ve been nice to have a little support-

No. That was the soulbond talking, not Crawly. Crawly was not going to let God tell them who they wanted around.

***

Puddles became horizons, and everything tasted of salt. The roaring of the frothing sea against the cypress planks of the Ark was loud, a never-ending crashing that dug into Aziraphale’s ears and never let them forget exactly how dangerous water could be.

The rains ceased after forty days, but the rocking, rocking continued. It still would for some time. Aziraphale knew there were one hundred and fifty days more of this in store, but they quickly lost track of how much time had passed and how much remained. The rain bow came, and the rain bow went.

It wasn’t until the Ark landed once more, when there was land to land upon, that Aziraphale saw Crawly again. They had wondered vaguely where they were – if they ran off to China or Australia in the meantime – but found that they were under Aziraphale’s feet the whole time.

Noah and his family were busy with the animals and the shrine-building when Aziraphale saw Crawly sneaking their way off the boat with a few children in tow. There weren’t many, maybe seven or eight, all young and desperate. Aziraphale didn’t understand, couldn’t possibly comprehend the implications. They remembered Crawly’s horrified declaration of _not the kids, you can’t kill kids_ , but hadn’t seen how that connected to right now and, possibly, what Crawly had been trying to say before the waters gulped the lands. Had the demon done something? Tempted the kids, used them for wicked wiles?

Aziraphale’s soul reached out, so they followed it like the guiding hand of Above. They watched as Crawly approached one of the human women who survived and passed the kids off to her. She promised Crawly she would take care of them and cried as she led the kids toward where her own and those of the other couples lingered. Noah was a wreck. He would not notice, and what might he do? Kill them? He wouldn’t, and God had gone quiet as She so often did. Crawly disappeared off the edge of a random direction and didn’t look back even once. Aziraphale watched them until there was nothing to see.

A demon had rescued children slated for death at the Almighty’s glorious hands. Rescued them. Something inside Aziraphale hurt so much. Crawly had wanted Aziraphale to help them with this, and they had spoken sharply and turned the demon away. But this…this was kind.

It didn’t make sense.

It didn’t make sense.

_None of it made sense._

If Crawly wasn’t a…a bad person, then why had they Fallen, to begin with? But no, Aziraphale couldn’t question that. They could not question the decisions of the Almighty. There had to be a reason that their soulmate was a demon with a kind streak. There had to. It had to make sense.

It didn’t make sense.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is Risen. Aziraphale contemplates destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to reread part of Matthew for this. I know it’s literally the New Testament and all, but that antisemitism in 28:11-15 do be uncomfy, my friends. I’m agnostic, so this is in no way propaganda for the Christian doctrine.  
> CW for offscreen character death and discussions about death w/ brief mention of blood. It’s Jesus, that’s who died. But he came back, at least?

The winds tore at Crowley’s draped robe, the excess fabric tugging at their long legs as they reached the peak. Their waist-length curls kept getting caught in their mouth and the veil flapped in front of their eyes obnoxiously, and they yanked at both to regain some visibility.

Just there, up ahead, they saw them. Aziraphale, clothed in an old, familiar white robe, was seated cross-legged over the edge of the rocky, jutting cliffside of grey and wild grasses. The walled City of Skulls consumed the view, yet was only the smallest part of it, and the horizon burned in purple and pink hues.

Crowley hesitated as Aziraphale sighed deeply and took a drag of their wineskin. Their wings were still out, shimmering white and gold in the low light with divine energy, long greedy grasses running fingers through the fluffy vanes.

“Nostalgic.”

Aziraphale jolted, nearly spilling their drink. They lifted their eyes up (grey, today) and met Crowley’s gaze in an instant, almost like they’d been anticipating the demon’s approach. They very well could have. Something about the other tasted of familiarity whenever they were in reach, and it had, after all, only been three days since they’d last seen each other and Crowley told them of their name change. They’d interacted a handful of times, maybe a dozen or two, but four thousand years was a very long time to become accustomed to the feeling of a soulbond and the complicated way they both tolerated it.

“What was that?” Aziraphale said, prim as ever, even with a nearly empty wineskin in hand that Crowley suspected should have been empty a very long time ago.

Crowley folded their arms and grinned, tilting their head enough for Aziraphale to see it past the veil. “That, too. But mostly the look.”

“Ah.”

“For the assignment, I assume?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Well, I was told to appear before Mary and…Mary…and show them my wings to impress upon them my divinity, and I didn’t feel that the garb I’d collected was, er, imposing enough.”

Crowley hummed noncommittally as they sat beside Aziraphale, much too close for the angel’s usual comfort levels, yet they passed the wineskin without comment. Crowley took a long drag without the alcohol depleting. “Don’t know that there’s any way of making you ‘imposing,’ angel. Though the stone was a great touch.”

“I don’t understand you.”

Crowley nodded in the vague direction of the newly vacated tomb, off in the distance. “Big rock and all. You just sort of pushed it aside like it weighed no more than a handful of pebbles. Didn’t know angels were that strong, to be honest.”

Aziraphale shrugged, ducking their head. “Well. We are simply what the Lord requires of us, I suppose.”

“Mmm. The Marys were a bit freaked, afterward.”

“Were they?” Aziraphale tapped their fingers together, eyebrows furrowed. “Oh, dear. I didn’t mean to frighten them, I just needed to tell them that Yeshua was already on his way to Galilee. Those men did faint straight away, though…”

Crowley almost laughed but bit it back in time. That had been quite a sight, from their serpentine hiding spot in the bushes. The Marys had held their ground when Aziraphale appeared before them in all their divine glory (Satan, had they not bothered to preen those feathers in literal eons?), but could barely speak afterward. Crowley didn’t blame them. An angel was quite a sight for an unsuspecting mortal, even for ones who’d known God’s kid personally.

Aziraphale sighed again and Crowley offered them the wineskin. They drank.

“Something on your mind, angel?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale glanced at them sharply, but it faded in an instant. “I just…don’t understand certain things, sometimes. And I prefer to understand things.”

“I can see why that would be frustrating,” Crowley said with an amused lilt.

“I know it’s not for me to understand,” Aziraphale burst, the words suddenly flowing like the endless wine. “That’s the whole point. It’s beyond me, and I’m merely to – to do as I’m told. But I don’t see why it was at all necessary for…for…”

Crowley stared at them. “It’s the ‘Ineffable Plan,’ you’ve always said.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale shuddered as a frigid blast smacked at them eastward. Crowley folded closer into themself, tucking the robe around their sandalled feet. “I simply don’t see,” Aziraphale murmured, “why things have to go exactly a certain way in order to a-achieve a result.”

“’S a dangerous train of thought, angel.”

“I’m not questioning Her,” Aziraphale said quickly. “I believe and trust in Her Plans entirely. I only wonder if a similar outcome may’ve been reached without, well. Without Yeshua having to go through all that.”

Crowley thought about how Aziraphale had stood there for every minute in which Yeshua bled from his hands. That man, the Son of God, who Crowley had met and tried so hard to hate. He’d refused the kingdoms of the world, but gazed upon them from that mountaintop, and said nothing. At a devil’s side, he was silent, yet he pled as he was strung to wood. The angel, Crowley surmised, had been stationed there, told to bear witness much like at the Ark, but not to intervene. There was a Plan, after all. And so, for days, Aziraphale had watched, and listened to Yeshua beg and weep until he went hoarse and numb.

Crowley had meant to stay. They had tried.

“Destiny,” the demon muttered.

“Destiny?”

“That’s what it is. That he was destined to go through that. That’s what you don’t like.”

“Not ‘don’t like,’” Aziraphale protested. _“Dislike,_ rather. Regardless, I simply wish – not wish – _think_ it feasible that it may have been possible to prove Yeshua’s…status without such a…gruesome display.”

“Destiny is bullshit, angel,” Crowley replied. “You know that.”

Aziraphale looked at them, then, eyes wide and curious. Crowley felt pinned there, even as a lock of hair got caught on their lip again and they didn’t lift a hand to pull it free. “What do you mean?”

Crowley cocked an eyebrow. “The soulbond.”

Aziraphale looked away as though embarrassed. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” Crowley leaned a bit closer, glaring out as the purples of the clouds faded to midnight blue and darkness softened the edges of the world, making it smaller and smaller and more containable to the mind’s eye. “Do you think any of us really have any say in what happens? Or is it all whatever God wants to happen?”

“You will not cause me to Doubt, serpent,” Aziraphale replied, but it had lost its bite in four thousand years of interactions and passing-bys and conversations. They were not friends, not by human standards. But Crowley knew they’d never attack Aziraphale, their hereditary enemy, and that spoke for something. They hadn’t been sure, right at first, when the soulbond kept calling to them. But it became less loud, in time, or maybe Crowley grew used to ignoring it.

“It’s not Doubting to ask questions,” Crowley grumbled anyway, and they both fell silent.

The sun set. Aziraphale drank deeply from the wineskin and passed it to Crowley again, who took it and didn’t drink. The world felt very, very small indeed.

With a sigh, Crowley let out their wings, black as the inkiness settled around them. There was no light but the tiny pricks of fire from Golgotha in the distance and the stars above, not even a moon to speak of. Crowley’s wings stretched out into the world like voids within a void, an emptiness of mass as they consumed the night. They settled them carefully behind them, being sure theirs and Aziraphale’s would not brush.

Crowley made a habit of letting them out, but not _around_ anyone. They decided not to overthink why they felt fine doing so with Aziraphale, beyond the truth that Aziraphale’s were still out. It was an instinct to reclaim the balance of power between them.

Aziraphale half-turned to watch Crowley’s wings settle, an odd expression on their face.

“What?” Crowley asked, a little defensive.

“Nothing.” Aziraphale continued to stare. “I just don’t understand a lot of things, I think.”

The angel was getting maudlin and there was something very wrong about a maudlin angel. Crowley smirked and tried to lighten the mood. “Can I quote you on that next time we disagree about something? I think I need to write that down.”

Obligingly, and perhaps half because of the wine, Aziraphale chuckled and finally turned away. Crowley released a tension in their shoulders they hadn’t realized was there.

Before the sun could again rise, Crowley set off, wings lifted just enough to not drag in the dust. They’d just cleaned them and didn’t fancy picking out the desert debris. “Think I’m going west,” Crowley commented airily. “I am thoroughly sick of sand.”

Aziraphale didn’t look at them, so Crowley walked away and wondered about ineffability.

***

It wasn’t that Aziraphale was questioning. They weren’t. They just sometimes wondered about these things, very occasionally. And Yeshua…it seemed so pointless, if he was destined to simply rise again, to have him die in the first place. To cleanse humanity of its sins, yes, but why did that mean making an exhibition of his slow and painful end? What was the purpose behind that? Not that Aziraphale doubted. In fact, they were completely sure that God had a reason. All of Her decisions were justified. Even for the Flood, and Sodom and Gomorrah, and the deaths of those Assyrians, and Egypt’s plagues.

Still. They wished they understood what those reasons _were_ , even if it was not their place to know.

Aziraphale watched as Golgotha awoke, the night dwindling as people ventured to their doorsteps in the early rays. Aziraphale’s job here was not done, and they wouldn’t be free to wander for some time yet. With a sigh, they closed their eyes and leaned back on their hands, grains shifting below their palms, an ever-changing landscape of indecision. Craw – Crowley had the right of it. Aziraphale was feeling quite sick of sand, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the steps in Rome, Crowley has a realization.

The walk to Petronius’ residence was excruciating, and Aziraphale kept casting sidelong glances at Crowley, unsure how they’d gotten here.

Aziraphale had been regretting their ability to speak ever since Crowley appeared in that tavern. They’d simply been having a lovely day and it left them in an upbeat, sociable mood. They’d finished their Blessings faster than expected, and of course, Rome was bustling with activity. There were so many scholars to meet and places to go! They spent hours exploring the city and ooing and awing like a tourist.

The problem was, it had been eight years since they’d seen Crowley. Not that that was a _problem,_ exactly, it was only that they usually went much longer without interacting. So, when Aziraphale stopped by a tavern for a bit of a sit, and a moment of relative calm…oh, their mouth! They’d felt frazzled at the unexpected appearance of the grumpy demon, and without even thinking…

Oh, Lord. Not that She would approve of this at all. Well, unless She would? That was rather the issue of the millennium. Aziraphale tried to justify themself as their sandaled feet traversed the Roman streets, side by side with a _demon_ of all things, by reminding themself that it was, technically, God’s design that soulmates were drawn to each other. So, perhaps, an occasional, rare moment of, er, deviation from their duties wasn’t entirely unacceptable in Her eyes.

“So, did the, er, temptation go well?” Aziraphale said after they’d been walking for multiple minutes in awkward silence. Crowley appeared to be determined to remain as sullen as they’d looked since that first moment at the bar.

Crowley eyed them, yellow rings visible past those little…glass things on their face. The black toga swept around the demon rather dramatically. “Suppose,” they replied noncommittally. “Think yours is going better, so far.”

“My…” Aziraphale flushed and frowned, looking away with their chin high. “I did not – it was merely an unfortunate word choice, not an actual…temptation. I would never.”

Crowley grunted in a way Aziraphale couldn’t quite interpret until words followed it. “Of course, angel.” And even then, their expression was stoic, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to think.

They were silent until they arrived. Aziraphale didn’t dare speak for fear of what might come out of their mouth again.

***

The worst part was that it actually wasn’t bad. The oysters, the company, the dinner at Petronius’ home with a bunch of stupidly rich guests and conversation flowing so fluidly, Crowley barely needed to say a word. Aziraphale had paid Crowley more attention than they may’ve expected, considering previous interactions of pretending the other didn’t exist or barely deserved an acknowledgement.

Well, that wasn’t fair to the angel…they were a demon, after all. God forbid they get too cosy – literally. Crowley was just not in the mood to deal with a bunch of drunk, vulgar Romans – not that they normally disapproved of such – but…yeah, it wasn’t a good day. It happened sometimes. Temptations get fucked up, Hell has something to say about it. Not a big deal, they hadn’t lost their job or anything. But. It took a toll, sometimes.

When Aziraphale spoke to them in that bar, all cheery and bright-eyed (green with a trace of brown), shining in the dankness of the weary place, Crowley barely even cared when their soul lit up at the sight. They’d just let it happen, and even though Crowley barely spoke at all, Aziraphale seemed perfectly happy to stay beside them and chatter on with other guests about…whatever the fuck. It was distinctly strange, but it calmed Crowley – the idea that someone wanted them around for some unfathomable reason.

Their soul panged when Aziraphale made to leave and tugged Crowley’s sleeve to ensure they followed. It didn’t make sense that Aziraphale cared to keep them nearby, especially in such a foul mood. But, they supposed, it did keep them from saying sacrilegious things that the angel was never sure what to do with, even when Aziraphale obviously agreed with them.

“Well, that was delightful,” Aziraphale said with a pleased little grin, hands folded over their broad stomach as they stood before the darkened streets of Rome, lights here and there and people milling about for some night-time debauchery. Rife for temptation if Crowley cared to bother. Instead, they watched how the fabric of Aziraphale’s blindingly white toga swayed with the slight tilt of their toes as they roved fond eyes over the city.

“Mmm.” Crowley blinked slowly, reminding themself that they had to actually react now that Aziraphale was talking to them directly, rather than the scholars and academics at large. “Yeah, it wasn’t too terrible. I’ve seen worse, anyway.”

“Oh, don’t be a grouch,” Aziraphale replied, but it was in oddly good humour. Perhaps it was the wine. “You seem in a much better mood than when I found you, earlier.”

There was something about that that rubbed Crowley the wrong way. “Found me?” they repeated back. “Makes it sound like you were _looking_ for me.”

Aziraphale made a surprised expression at the sharp tone, and Crowley immediately wanted to take it back. “I wasn’t,” they replied after a beat.

“Don’t want to be found,” Crowley said, looking away.

Aziraphale sniffed. Out of the corner of their eye, Crowley could see the angel glaring at them. “No one _forced_ you to come, you know.”

“You tempted me.”

“You know full _well_ I did no such thing.” Aziraphale finally moved away, carrying on down the handful of steps leading to Petronius’ villa.

“Erm.” Crowley lifted a hand involuntarily before letting it fall, but the aborted sound was enough to halt Aziraphale’s movements.

“Yes?”

“’S not you, okay?” Crowley ground out, teeth clenched. “Just not…a great day. Demon stuff. Probably not good to – to take it out on other people, I guess.”

Aziraphale looked back at them slowly, eyebrows raised in something like surprise, possibly a dash of amusement for flavour. It was better than the glaring. “That does seem a rightly demonic activity,” they replied.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Suppose I should expect that from you, then.”

“Mmm.” Something in Crowley’s chest was lightening, and they didn’t even know why. “’S been four thousand years. Reckon you’d be used to it, already.”

Something crossed Aziraphale’s face quickly, far too fast for Crowley to decipher it. They studied them with piercing eyes, the flames of the streets flickering in the darkness like burning stars in endless space. Crowley stood a handful of steps above, looking down at the angel. The angel, looking up at the demon. A gust swelled, and Crowley automatically reached to brush hair out of their face – hair they’d cut, they remembered when their fingers found only air.

“I suppose there is much I ought to be used to,” Aziraphale replied quietly, the wind softening the edges. “Well, until next time, Crowley.”

They were already walking away before Crowley managed to reply, “’Night, angel!”

_Angel._

Crowley shivered in the cold night air.

There was no bite in it when Crowley said it anymore. _Angel_. When? When did that happen? When did “angel” stop being an insult and reminder, and when did the call of their soul toward Aziraphale’s become so difficult to _resist?_ Every bone of the demon called out to Aziraphale, wanted to follow them wherever they were going. The feeling wasn’t new. It had always done that because God had planted some shitty compass deep inside and Aziraphale was their eternal north. Not by choice, by _design._

It was always loud, but it blared in Crowley’s ears that night as they watched Aziraphale walk away, after a largely unremarkable afternoon of seafood and meagre discussion. Why now? When had it gotten so loud, and why had Crowley never noticed?

What changed?

Nothing. Nothing had changed. Only, Crowley had seen Aziraphale when they were happy. When they were discussing something that they were passionate about. When they ate a meal that they found delicious. Aziraphale had smiled at Crowley, as though that was a normal thing they did.

For the first time, Crowley looked at Aziraphale. Not at an angel, not at a soulmate they had no hand in. They saw Aziraphale.

They pressed a hand against their chest and realized their heart was pounding, and that was when it became obvious that the call wasn’t their soul this time. It was just Crowley.

And that was infinitely more terrifying.

***

Aziraphale closed the door of their rented room and sank into the pallet with a sigh, eradicating the fleas with a thought. Not that they intended to sleep, of course. Aziraphale found it too discombobulating to willingly abandon consciousness. As such, they used the long, dark nights with a candle at hand to catch up on the writings of the era. There was so much being produced nowadays, with literacy more accessible than ever before.

This time, however, they simply laid still for a few moments, breathing in slowly, and out slowly.

When had that started? Early on, of course. Humans _noticed_ when someone wasn’t breathing. It was a habit they’d had to adopt to blend in and to keep from being accused of magic – magic that the angel could _technically_ do. They’d had to learn to act human to be accepted as one of their own. They’d spent the whole day breathing, as they had done for centuries, now. Millennia. Four thousand years, as Crowley had said.

It never felt like such a long time until the demon said it. So many lifetimes of humans had gone by. They progressed so fast, they changed and grew and lived and died in a beautiful whirlwind of creation and ingenuity. Every single day, they chose to get up and change the world. And they didn’t, usually, but they chose to try. It was amazing.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure, if they had to choose, that they could manage it.

Aziraphale did what they did because they had to. There weren’t options or decisions to be made. They had jobs to perform, and that was all. Not that they weren’t perfectly happy to do so, naturally. Only…why would an angel need to choose anything?

_Let me to tempt you to-_

Sometimes, Aziraphale did make choices. And they were the wrong ones. Their soul was abuzz from the prolonged proximity to their soulmate and, as usual, Aziraphale had no idea what to do about it. They didn’t know what God _wanted_ them to do about it, either. She made the angel, and made them feel this way, and decided their feelings for them, of course. Aziraphale did not get to choose things. Except, apparently, when they did.

Aziraphale gave away their sword in the very Beginning, after all.

Were all choices dangerous? Did the Almighty intend for Aziraphale to choose at all? Did She know what they would pick? Yes, She knew all, so She must.

Aziraphale closed their eyes for a moment, allowing the world to go dark. In their mind, they replayed the memory. Crowley, choosing to talk to Aziraphale. Aziraphale, choosing to reply. That had happened, and it was before they’d even realized what they were meant to be to each other. Like it was the natural thing to do.

They did not know what God would think.

They knew fully what Heaven would think.

(Shouldn’t those be the same?)

As Aziraphale sat up and rifled through their bag for a particular scroll they’d been anxious to peruse, they decided that interaction with their soulmate must be kept to an absolute minimum henceforth. Nothing Good could come of it, regardless of how Aziraphale wished…no, regardless of anything. At all.

Crowley was a demon. No matter how it twisted their nature to refuse, Aziraphale must. It was, almost certainly, God’s Will. And that had always mattered more than their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing them just barely beginning to care about each other. These walnuts have no idea how much love they can hold.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a fog-choked wood, two knights meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one and only thing I don’t like about Good Omens is that dinosaurs aren’t real in this universe. (Or maybe God is an unreliable narrator, hmm? Where’s my paleontologist fic ‘bout that?)  
> [Here's a good video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_jgF-S746o) on King Arthur mythos if you're into that.

Despite Aziraphale’s decision to avoid Crowley, it just wasn’t possible when this big, big Earth was so small.

They saw each other again when the Roman Empire fell, no more than a few traded words. Again, for an accidental meal in the Kingdom of Aksum. A few sentences exchanged when passing through the Pye Kingdom and Zhangzhung and the Tairona chiefdoms, and one memorable moment in which Aziraphale found Crowley as a snake being hassled by a hyena in the Sahel. But, by and large, they did not associate with each other, positively nor negatively, and both went about their jobs and their lives without thinking about the other too frequently. For the most part.

For Aziraphale, the reign of King Arthur in the Kingdom of Wessex was a dream. They would later garner a collection specifically of the mythos surrounding the elusive era of British history, including all the laughably incorrect retellings and the historical analyses that “proved” Arthur’s reign to be nothing more than myth. Humans. One minute, King Arthur didn’t happen, and the next, giant lizards did. They never could quite land on what was too absurd and what was not.

Regardless, the era suited Aziraphale, and they found themself thoroughly entrenched in the politics of the church and the monarchy. They were iffy on which kings and queens and royals were truly God-appointed, as Aziraphale was not consulted on such decisions, but they had been told to work their Blessings from a place of status, and there was little better place to be than Arthur’s Round Table. All the knights were eager for quests of glory – though Aziraphale rather felt they could’ve spent more time creating policies to eradicate poverty, but alas, they seemed quite disinterested in such matters. They wanted to help people by being dramatic, which nearly reminded Aziraphale of someone they knew.

It was late autumn when news of a troublemaker in the western wood reached Aziraphale, and they set out to investigate it.

Fog breathed through the pine boughs; the castle spires cast a grey silhouette in the distance. The only sound was the clunking of their metal and the hoof-steps of their armoured horse. All smelled of swamp and sweet mud sunk beneath soles.

The troublemaker – who called themself the Black Knight – was known to be camped in these nearby woods, but the fog thoroughly obscured vision. The Black Knight, whoever they may be, could pass by Aziraphale’s elbow and they mayn’t notice. So, lifting the face of their helmet, Aziraphale squinted about and called, “Hello?”

After a brief pause of scanning the cloaked surroundings, they continued, introducing themself to their invisible adversary. A sudden shadow appeared, hunched and beckoning them forward. Aziraphale followed warily; shadows in the fog rarely meant anything good.

“Um, I wish to speak with the Black Knight?” they repeated as a half dozen more shadowy figures emerged from the dense fog.

One approached from centre in black armour, steps steady. “You have sought the Black Knight, foolish one,” came a voice, “but you have found your death.”

Something in Aziraphale twisted with familiarity. Of course, they should’ve known, but they were so used to ignoring and suppressing the feeling. “Crowley, is that you under there?”

With the flipping of their black helmet visor, the demon’s yellow eyes were revealed, and Crowley waved their – soldiers? – people back. Oh, dear. Aziraphale didn’t have time for the demon’s nonsensical scandals to complicate matters. They were about to firmly suggest that Crowley perhaps take their business to a different part of the world when…

“’D be easier if we both stayed home,” Crowley explained with a flippant air.

Aziraphale frowned. “Whatever do you mean?”

Crowley’s offer was, of course, completely unacceptable. The very idea that – that Aziraphale would…no. Of course, not. There wasn’t any point in discussing it at all, and Aziraphale left in a great huff.

In all their time as – as – in all their time knowing each other, Crowley had never, not once, truly tried to tempt Aziraphale. Oh, there were moments the angel could point to, could argue as temptation, but they knew it to be posturing. As they marched back to the castle, they thought of a moment outside the Ark, when Crowley had tried to ask Aziraphale for help. And Aziraphale had shut them down in an instant, assuming ill intent where there had been none.

Their steps faltered.

It – that was different, though. If Aziraphale had heard them out, of course they would have helped save those kids. Of course.

Right?

They stopped moving. The horse they led whined and pawed at the ground.

Aziraphale did not help save any kids of their own accord, because it was God’s Will for them to die. Could they claim, thousands of years later, that they would have helped Crowley even if they had known what the demon was up to? Or would they have…intervened? Would they have acted to ensure those kids faced a merciless death for the failures of mankind?

What kind of an angel were they, that they did not know?

They took another step, but the silver armour felt heavy.

This time, Crowley was not asking to save anyone. Well, only really save _themselves_ a bit of trouble, a bit of effort. But they couldn’t simply not do the things they were told to do. Hell was certainly dense, but not even they would fail to notice something like that.

Aziraphale had, if they were to be entirely transparent, stretched the truth just the teensiest bit on reports, now and again – but only because Heaven didn’t have as intimate an understanding of how Earth worked as Aziraphale, with their personal experience, and sometimes it was necessary to, er, satisfy requests in a roundabout way to-

Point was. Point was, Heaven would notice, too, if the Blessings didn’t get done.

Some rebellious little spark in the back of Aziraphale’s mind whispered a slightly different idea than Crowley’s, and Aziraphale immediately began walking toward the castle before they did something stupid like turn around and offer Crowley some _conditions._

***

Even Crowley wasn’t entirely sure why they’d asked. They knew full well what Aziraphale’s answer would be before they even opened their damned mouth. The angel called Michael a stickler, but they were just as much, from Crowley’s perspective. Always uptight and drawn up and holier-than-thou. It shouldn’t have been so amusing to the demon, but there it was, and perhaps the idea of some free time to spare when they ran into each other was an attractive prospect. Crowley was demon enough to admit it. Silently.

Ever since Rome, Crowley had become increasingly aware that Aziraphale was different, and not just because of who they were to the demon specifically. They were also genuinely kind, with enough of a rebellious streak so as not to be insufferable, and dammit all if Crowley wasn’t weak for that cheekiness Aziraphale displayed sometimes when they had too much to drink and let themself slip. Just a bit. Not enough to have any intense consequences, but enough that Crowley could tell that they had not been paying nearly enough attention in the past millennia.

But was that even true? Or had they not wanted to acknowledge what they saw?

Well, fuck it. Crowley _liked_ Aziraphale. They were interesting and fun, and sure, they were a bit of a prick sometimes when it came to touchier subjects. So was Crowley, to be fair, and they couldn’t help but be drawn to the angel’s familiar companionship. Crowley was always a fan of the odd ducks. Ducks in general, for that matter. They wondered if Aziraphale liked ducks. Probably, since they were all…fluffy, and such.

Anyway.

Crowley and their posse of strays faded back into the woods, and the demon almost didn’t feel the usual snap of the soulbond, pressing against their back like the increasing distance was thinning it to stretched rubber. Ridiculous. It was still ridiculous. God didn’t get to tell Crowley who they belonged with. That was Crowley’s decision, ta very much. The other demons – Hastur and Ligur, Beelzebub and Dagon – might disagree, but their soulmates weren’t _angels._ Aziraphale was interesting, but Crowley wasn’t wanting to “bond” with them, especially when the angel had such an _attitude_ about the whole thing.

Life as the only demon on Earth was lonely, sometimes. But Crowley wasn’t _that_ desperate.


End file.
